


Don't Leave My Heart Alone

by beesparks



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Drama, Family Issues, Friends to Lovers, Kinda complicated relationship, M/M, Romance, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, age gap, semi domestic!chanbaek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-08-30 20:34:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8548228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beesparks/pseuds/beesparks
Summary: Chanyeol has never known what it means to love. It takes his ex-wife to reveal that to him, and a young, effervescent cashier from the local convenience store to teach him how.





	1. Chapter 1

“Dad!” 

Chanyeol opens his arms to the figure barreling toward him, emitting a good-natured  _ oof _ once the character collides with his torso. His oxfords squeak across the pavement; he’s still in his work clothes, and his leather satchel thumps heavily against his thigh. “Jongin, it’s so good to see you, bud. I missed you!” He pulls back his son’s sweatshirt hood to ruffle his black hair. “How did you get so tall in only a week?” 

A giggle. “Da-a-ad.” Jongin tilts his head upward and flashes a grin at his father. It’s genuine, so bright and full of teeth, and Chanyeol’s heart swells at the picture. These days, it’s hit or miss with Jongin. Sometimes he embodies sunshine, laughing at old Canimals episodes with his brother on the couch back home; on others, he broods silently in the corner, refusing to interact with anyone, least not his father. Chanyeol can’t blame him. Jongin’s too young to understand terms such as “divorce papers” and “child custody”, but he’s old enough to comprehend that something is eerily wrong. 

“And is that Sehunnie I spot?” Chanyeol asks, holding a hand to his brow and squinting as if his second son was miles away and not just a few feet in front of him. He envelopes Jongin with one arm and extends the other toward the younger boy. “C’mere. Group hug!” 

Sehun, however, doesn’t come running like his brother. Instead, he scowls and kicks at the gravel with the toe of his sneaker. “Why are you so excited to see us?” he mutters, glaring at the ground. Then he adds, “You missed my baseball game on Tuesday. You said you were gonna be there.” 

Chanyeol stands slowly, brushing off the gravel that clings to his pant legs. It’s not the first time he’s felt like the shittiest father in the world and a nagging voice in the back of his head tells him it won’t be the last. “Sehun,” he breathes. “I know. I’m so sorry. I had a last-minute work meeting, but I really wanted to go. I promise I’ll watch your next game.”

“You  _ promise _ ?” the boy sneers. Chanyeol flinches at his tone, but he knows he deserves it. He deserves to be chewed out by his ten-year-old son in an empty park in Seoul in the dead of winter. He might as well get Shittiest Father in the World tattooed across his forehead. “Your promises don’t mean anything, because you always break them. And you can’t watch me next time, because that was my last playoff game!” Then Sehun is running, his sneakered feet slapping against the concrete, to the safety of the swingset nearby. Jongin gives Chanyeol a pitying look before he wrenches himself out of his arms and bounds after his brother. 

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage already?” a new voice questions softly from behind him, icy cold and formal. Chanyeol straightens from his position on the sidewalk and looks stiffly at the newcomer. He hadn’t heard anyone approaching. It’s  _ her _ of course, but she isn’t looking at him. Instead, she’s staring forlornly at the two young boys swaying back and forth on their respective swings. 

“Hayoon,” Chanyeol says gruffly as a means of greeting. He digs his hands into his jacket pockets, pinching the fleece lining as a distraction. There’s always been something about  _ her  _ that makes him feel on edge, like he’s constantly committing some invisible wrong under her watchful gaze. Maybe its her glossy brown hair, so opposite to his own mussed locks, sticking out in wayward directions. It’s a silent reminder that he doesn’t measure up in a number of ways.

He can’t help but sneak a glance at her left hand, at the bare fingers that tap against the side of her skirt impatiently. He remembers back to years ago, pestering the clerk at Tiffany’s about custom-made white gold wedding bands. Hayoon had always been incredibly picky; it had taken him hours to locate a suitable ring for her. Now, he doesn’t know why he looks anymore; he himself took off his wedding band months ago. 

“Chanyeol,” she replies sharply. “Let’s sit down on the bench like adults, shall we?” Chanyeol reddens at the condescending acidity in her voice and rises from the pavement, where snow had been seeping into his trousers. When they both settle on a metal park bench, a gaping distance between them, she speaks again, this time a bit softer. Chanyeol knows that tone all too well. It’s her persuasive voice, like she’s about a viper about to strike. “You’ve given it some thought, I’m assuming?”

“Well, that  _ is _ the reason we agreed to meet today,” Chanyeol scoffs, folding his arms. As if he had any choice in this matter. “But I’m not going to sign the papers.” 

“You’re not going to--” Hayoon pales, her face appearing ashen white under her blue woolen scarf. It turns red next, from anger. “Chanyeol, we’ve  _ talked  _ about this.” 

“We sure have. And you know my answer from each time we’ve discussed this issue. Nothing has changed.”

Hayoon splutters and launches off the bench, as if sitting too closely to Chanyeol would drive her insane. “Don’t be ridiculous. We aren’t even living in the same house anymore.”

“Well, we were, before I was evicted by someone, despite the house being under my name,” Chanyeol bites back, slumping lower into the bench’s cold seat. “Hayoon, you clearly don’t want me to stay, and I want what’s best for you…” She lets out an uncharacteristic snort, but he braves on. “But I don’t want Sehun and Jongin growing up in a dysfunctional family.” 

“Dysfunctional!” Her hands fly to her scarf, as if the material were choking her. “Chanyeol, our sons would experience a more  _ whole _ family without you. You were never home in the first place; you not being there at all wouldn’t make much of a difference.” 

Ouch. 

“I wasn’t lying when I said I’d make it up to Sehun,” Chanyeol says, and he hates himself for the rough desperation edging in his voice. “I’ll win them back, Sehun  _ and  _ Jongin. I’ll cut hours at work, take them on vacation, I don’t know, but I’ll do it. It’s not too late.” Briefly, he wonders who he’s truly trying to persuade.

She laughs, cruelly. “Chanyeol, it doesn’t work that way. The kids know you as more of a breadwinner than their actual father. That not something easily forgotten.” 

“It’s not like you were home that often, either,” Chanyeol snaps quickly, as he watches Hayoon pace across the trodden snow in her high heels. “That’s why we hired that babysitter, remember? Because if I recall correctly, both of us worked our asses off, to an unacceptable degree. What I don’t understand is why you’re so keen on getting those papers signed all of a sudden. I thought this was going to be a gradual process, to let the boys transition. The whole you-watch-them-during-the-week and I-get-them-on-weekends type deal. What happened?”

“I guess I finally realized how much of a terrible father you were,” Hayoon quips sourly. “Sure, I worked late hours, but I knew my limits as a mother. You, on the other hand, continued to come home late and collapse on the couch far past the boys’ bedtimes, and you left early in the morning without saying so much as a  _ hello _ to any of us. 

You know, Sehun’s not really hurt about your absence at his baseball game, because that was expected. He’s hurt because a few days ago, his classmate asked him why he didn’t have a father. As far as Jongin and Sehun are considered, their dad doesn’t even  _ exist _ .” She stops to sigh deeply through her nose. “Chanyeol, you may not realize, but you’re really hurting them.” 

“I’m not trying to!” Chanyeol yells, jumping up from the bench. His voice echoes across the park, and he sits down sheepishly when he spots Jongin staring anxiously at them from the swingset. “Hayoon, you know my background. It’s no excuse, of course, but I--”. His voice breaks. “I don’t know how to be a good father, don’t know how to love the way I should. All I’ve ever known is providing and working. I don’t know what else to give.” 

“But you do,” Hayoon says, sadly this time. “You do know how to love, you’ve just never realized what it looks like. Chanyeol, it’s not that Jongin and Sehun don’t love you, they do…” 

“And you, Hayoon?” It slips out of Chanyeol’s mouth before he can stop it. 

Hayoon knits her brows and stares at the ground. “Once,” she says quietly. “I did.” A pause lingers in the air, heavy and dark. “Look, this may not be the best time to bring this up, but I need to let you know.”

Chanyeol isn’t sure he can handle any more negative news, but he nods in acquiescence. What else can he do at this point, honestly.

“You’re right. I do want the papers signed faster, for a reason.” Hayoon looks up from nudging absently at a massive clump of dirty snow with her foot. “Chanyeol, I met someone. Someone I think I’d like to be with.”

It’s like a blow to the stomach. “What?” he manages, but it comes out as more of a gurgle than anything. 

“It’s not your fault,” Hayoon assures him, but her expression of twisted sympathy says otherwise. “Not really, at least. When we separated, we agreed that it was okay to see other people, right?” Her eyes plead for him to say yes, to tell her she didn’t do anything wrong by wanting someone that wanted her back. Chanyeol feels like an asshole, at best. “I found someone, Chanyeol. Someone I really, really like.”

“And...?” Chanyeol can already envision the implications, but he needs to hear it from her mouth. 

“Chan,” she whispers. It’s been a solid five-plus years since she’s used that nickname. It feels fresh and lovely coming from her mouth, but also so, so foreign, like she’s addressing a completely different person. “I’m leaving.” 

“What?” Chanyeol mentally kicks himself for his eloquent word choices.  _ What?  _ He scrambles off the bench, nearly tripping over his feet as he attempts to upright himself. “Wait, wait. I thought we were going to figure this out, double custody and everything. You’re not taking my kids away from me.” He says the last part as a statement, an order. “Hayoon, you can’t do this to our family.” 

“No one said anything about separating you from the boys,” she answers. “The boys aren’t going anywhere.”

Bam. It hits Chanyeol like a tsunami wave, impending doom finally crashing down. “Hayoon,” he chuckles weakly, like it’s a funny joke or something. He almost expects a laughing track to play in the background, for some invisible announcer to confirm it was all just a bad joke. Her face, however, remains impassive, with a hint of apology thrown in. “Hayoon, you can’t be serious.” 

“I wish I wasn’t.” That’s a damn lie, and they both know it.

“Shit,” Chanyeol hisses. “You go on and on about a dysfunctional family, when you’re the one who’s leaving? What the hell are you thinking, Hayoon? Hayoon!” His voice reaches hysteria, louder and more shrill, enough that his syllables crack. 

“I know! God, you think I haven’t spent both days and nights pondering this? But I’m so tired, Chanyeol. I love our boys, more than anything in this entire, tragic universe, but can’t I be selfish for once? Can’t I want happiness for myself?” Fat tears stream down her face, furrowing through the pearly sheen of her makeup. She coughs, almost choking on the hair that sticks to her lipgloss. “Even if you don’t sign the papers, I’m not going to be around for much longer. I’m dropping Jongin and Sehun at yours, tomorrow night. You can have the house back, I’ll drop off the keys in your mailbox.” She has the gall to look vaguely guilty. “I’m sorry, Chanyeol. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

“That’s funny,” Chanyeol laughs bitterly. “Because I was under the impression it wasn’t supposed to end at all.” Dusting off his satchel, snow trickling through his bare fingers, he stands up and throws the strap over his shoulder, not really sure where he’s supposed to go. With a hoarse voice, he says, “Tell Jongin and Sehun I’ll see them tomorrow night, then.” He doesn’t wait for her response before walking away, careful to maintain a straight face.

When he’s past the zelkova and oak trees lining the park, out of sight and earshot, he breaks into a run, a cold sweat drenching his body, adding to the biting winter chill. For the first time in a long time, he can’t hold it in. It’s been so long since he’s last cried, but here he is -- a grown six-foot-something man bawling like a baby in the middle of a city street. The funny thing is, he can’t bring himself to care.

  
  


~*~

 

When Chanyeol gets home, he doesn’t even bother slipping out of his suit and oxfords before he’s locking up his apartment door, heading straight for the convenience store, long legs striding with decision. He needs liquor in his system, or at least some kind of mindless distraction to numb his racing mind. His fingers itch for a cigarette, but something tells him plumes of smoke won’t be enough. A few knocks of soju would probably do the trick.

The chime at the store’s door seems to mock him as he steps into the fluorescent lighting, playing an ironically cheerful tune. It takes Chanyeol all but four seconds to pick out a case of cheap booze and drop it on the checkout counter with an burdened sigh.

“Long day, buddy?” the cashier asks.

“Something like that,” Chanyeol replies roughly as he fishes in his pants pockets for his wallet. 

“Sorry to hear,” is the answer, and maybe it’s the genuinely sympathetic lilt in the voice, or for some other reason unknown, but Chanyeol lifts his head to properly address the speaker. Halfway, however, his voice catches in his throat. The cashier, for lack of a better word, is stunning. Dark, sleepy eyes and a triangular pink mouth in a thin face. Mussed brown hair. He’s wearing a worn green flannel and there’s something written across his hand in bright purple ink. Chanyeol has to look down at him to make eye contact; he barely measures up to his nose. On another day, years ago, college-aged Chanyeol might have worked up the guts to ask someone like him out. 

“‘S alright,” Chanyeol manages after a spell. “We all have our ups and downs.”

“That we do,” the cashier agrees and pauses to blow his bangs out of his face. It’s obscenely cute.  _ Wait, no, it’s not. _ Now is certainly not the time to be fawning over adorable convenience store cashiers probably fresh out of high school. For one, Chanyeol was brooding over his circumstances only minutes ago. Secondly, he doesn’t want to go to jail all that badly. Even so, he can’t help but throw a wistful glance at the other man as he pushes open the store door, the chime tittering once he steps out. 

At home, Chanyeol pops open a soju bottle and drains part of it. Slumping on the couch, he opens his laptop and pours over his work files as a means of therapy. He can hear Hayoon’s accusations clearly, as if she’s speaking right into his ear.  _ You work too much, Chanyeol. We’re one of the most affluent families in our neighborhood, and yet you still work as if you’re trying to make ends meet. Why can’t you just let it go?  _

Chanyeol slams the computer shut with gritted teeth. It’s always been useless, trying to explain it to her. He lets his head fall back onto the headrest of the sofa and takes a few heavy breaths. 

He hates this feeling of helplessness; he’s always found ways to fix things. Hell, he paid his way through college after spending long, grueling summer months in the factory back in Okpo-dong, trading in hours of video gaming with his friends to scrounge up bills to finance his education. His mother scolded him for trying, always nagging at him for damaging his health when she brought barley tea to him as he studied, well past midnight. Then she would cry into her sweater sleeve and apologize repeatedly for chasing away dad, because maybe if he had stayed, Chanyeol wouldn’t have to work his ass off. She didn’t drive him away, Chanyeol knew that much. He had chosen to leave, just like Hayoon. And in his wake, he had left an unemployed mother, two scrawny kids, and a mountain of unpaid bills littering the kitchen table.

The first time, Chanyeol couldn’t do anything, but watch it unfold in front of his eyes. The slamming front door and the angry purr of his dad’s car screeching away. Mom’s muffled sobbing behind a locked bathroom door. Yoora’s attempts at consolation, patting gingerly at Chanyeol’s seven-year-old back. “ _ It’s gonna be okay, Chan. Dad’s just… he’ll be back. Promise.”  _

He never returned. 

This time, however, Chanyeol resolves to try harder, to salvage whatever Hayoon and him have left. All the love that once existed has probably long since dried up, but he  _ knows _ she still cares. She has to, he tells himself. He downs another swallow of soju, relishing in the masochistic burn as it tears down his throat. Man, he’s so drunk. 

Without thinking much about it, he picks up his phone and dials the only number he knows by heart. The call is picked up on the second ring.

“Chanyeol. Hey, what’s up? Why the sudden call?” It’s weird to hear his voice after such a long time. 

“Jongdae, heyyy, man.” 

“Chanyeol, are you drunk?” There’s a hint of amusement on the other end of the line. “Is this a rerun of our college excursions? I thought you swore off anything stronger than wine. Or did you drink Hayoon’s entire cooking liquor stash again?”

Chanyeol snorts. He’d rather not relive that embarrassing incident. “Hayoon’s not here anymore. We broke up.” 

A pause. “What? Last time I checked, you two were married, Chan. Remember? God, I forgot how much of a lightweight you are.”

“We’re divorcing,” Chanyeol mumbles into his bottle. The phone tips precariously under his ear. “She’s leavin’ me, Jongdae. Dunno what to do. I tried to… to tell her… but she found someone else, she’s leaving Jongdae, me ‘nd Jongin, Sehun.” He hiccups. 

“Wait, Chanyeol, slow down. You’re getting a divorce? Oh man, I’m sorry. I just… I would have never expected you and Hayoon… it really has been a long time, hasn’t it?” Jongdae cracks a nervous laugh. “I didn’t know you and Hayoon were in such a place.” 

“Yeah, pretty sad, considering our high school sweetheart past, right?” It comes out like a stream, unfettered and unending. “What a load of bullshit. Jongdae, what do I dooo?”

Jongdae hesitates. Even in his inebriated state, Chanyeol knows why. His old college friend is a loving, doting father to three kids, in a wonderful home, married to a lovely wife. Of course he hesitates. “Have you tried talking to Hayoon?” 

“Jongdae,” Chanyeol whines. “You know Hayoon. She’s so stubborn. When she gets her mind set on something, she has to see it through. Though this time, it’s even worse, ‘cuz she’s got her heart invested too.” 

There’s a deep sigh. “Chanyeol, why don’t you come over sometime this week? Wednesday… no, Thursday evening? Jongin and Sehun can play with my kids, and you and I can talk about this in depth.” 

Chanyeol clears his throat. “Yeah ‘kay,” he says, as sincerely as he can, because his eyes are drooping so it’s hard for him not to slur all his syllables together. “I’ll be there, Jong… dae. Thanks for -- for listening.” The phone slips from under his ear and falls in between the couch cushions, but Chanyeol’s head has already lolled back, succumbing to sleep and its promises of rest.

About two hours later, he wakes with a jolt and lets out an animalistic groan as his head throbs. It’s like an earthquake shattered his brain; it hurts like  _ hell _ . 

“Never doing that again,” he spits as he peels off his suit and wrenches on a pair of joggers and a plain white tee. When his stomach growls, he glares down at it. “Not you too.” 

But it’s understandable; it’s nearly 8pm and he hasn’t eaten anything since lunch. He needs Aspirin anyways, so he decides to kill two birds with one stone by swinging by the convenience store once more. Absently, he wonders if Green Flannel Cashier will still be manning the register. 

The universe must hate his guts, because he’s still there, of course, though his flannel is now tied around his waist. Chanyeol takes it as both a blessing and a curse. He feels kind of gross for even noticing the other in a way not suitable for the usual worker-customer balance. Plus, Green Flannel Cashier probably has nice, petite girlfriend with shiny eyes and an irresistible smile waiting for him at home. Chanyeol doesn’t want to think about it; he’s done with even considering relationships, for oh… maybe the rest of his life. Bitterly, he thinks that he’d rather die alone than face any more emotional angst.  _ Romantic Relationships and Heartbreak! Buy One Get One Free!  _

It’s a morbid thought, and it must show on his face, because when he sets down a bottle of aspirin and a prepackaged Shin Ramyun, the cashier gives him a pitying look. “Back so soon?” 

“Listen,” Chanyeol says gravely. “Don’t ever try drinking your problems away. Gives you a fucking terrible headache and it doesn’t work. Don’t do it.” 

The cashier laughs, a bright and clear sound. “Trust me, it’s too late for that. I pretty much have a degree in Regrettable Decisions. Drinking as therapy included.” 

“Yeah, well, you’re probably not as much of a lightweight as me.” Chanyeol frowns as he contemplates his drinking past. All occasions tied to alcohol had ended in some unmentionable embarrassment on his part.

“Probably,” the cashier agrees, as he scans Chanyeol’s items. “But stress can do a lot of different things to you, regardless of your tolerance levels. If you want to get drunk, you will. It’s an emotional experience, don’t you think?” Chanyeol just stares. The cashier places a pair of wooden chopsticks onto the ramyun bowl and hands it to him, the aspirin bottle sitting next to it. “Eat your heart out.” 

With a small murmur of thanks, Chanyeol fills his bowl with steaming hot water and ambles over to a side table angled towards a window onlooking the bustling city street. It’s dark and noisy outside, with cars and taxis crisscrossing through the streets and pedestrians soaking in the neon signs and muggy air of October’s Seoul. Inside the convenience store, however, it’s silent and empty, save for the cashier. It only takes a few grateful slurps of his noodles and a couple of aspirin before Chanyeol feels himself unwinding, all of the pent-up stress dissolving with the steam from his bowl. As he reaches the mid-mark of his dish, he hears the chair next to him squeak across the tile with the pressure of another body. He turns his head to see the cashier perched on the adjacent seat, peeling back the cover of his own ramyun bowl.

“Sorry, do you mind if I join you? It’s my break time and I’m starved.” 

“No, feel free,” Chanyeol replies through a mouthful of noodles. The cashier lets out a contented sigh before he’s slurping away, maneuvering wooden chopsticks with the prettiest fingers Chanyeol has ever seen. After a stretch of mostly comfortable silence, he finds himself asking, “Is it always this quiet in here?”

“Hmm?” The cashier dabs at his chin with a paper napkin _.  _ “Well, not usually. Most of the time it’s pretty loud and busy, actually. I guess most people don’t care to visit a convenience store at 8:30 on a Monday night. Well, with the exception of you.” 

“Do you work here every day?” Chanyeol doesn’t feel particularly conversational tonight, but he can’t seem to shut himself up either. He blushes into his ramyun bowl when he realizes the stalker-ish nature of his question. “Sorry, I don’t mean it like  _ that _ \--” 

“I know you don’t.” The cashier smiles kindly. “I’m a part-time student at the university, so I only work here from 4pm to midnight, most days.” A college student. Chanyeol cringes inwardly; he’s so  _ young. _ “What do you do?”

“I’m an investment banker,” Chanyeol replies with a frown. “If you’re still deciding on a major, don’t pursue finance. It pays well, but only if you’re willing to sell your soul for it.” 

The smaller man finishes slurping up an especially tangled noodle before commenting. There’s the remnants of chili flakes lining his lips when he speaks. “I’m a music major. It’s basically the opposite for me. I love it to pieces, but you know the routine. My parents are constantly giving me hell for it.” He scrunches up his face in a twisted imitation of a standard ahjumma, in what Chanyeol presumes to be his mother. “ _ Baekhyun, you good-for-nothing son! Why can’t you be a lawyer or a doctor? You think you can pay your bills with sheet music? You think you can get a girl by wooing her with your debt profile?”  _

The cashier --  _ Baekhyun _ \-- lets out of bark of laughter at his own impersonation. Chanyeol can’t help but laugh along. “I want to be a soundtrack composer,” Baekhyun says, staring dreamily at his chopsticks. “I want to create huge masterpieces that play in the background of films. Have you ever tried watching a grand-scale movie, like, say, the Lord of the Rings, on mute before?” 

Chanyeol shakes his head. He can’t say he has. 

“It’s the strangest thing,” Baekhyun remarks. “It’s incredibly different. There’s no… no  _ emotion _ in it without music. It’s like the film loses its entire identity. It’s mind-blowing, how much music can influence the outcome of something. I’d love to do that, to whip up orchestral sequences of piano, violin, drums, trumpet, to make audiences laugh and cry and dance.” He pauses to lift the bowl to his lips, to gulp down the salty liquid. Chanyeol follows his motion. It’s a strange picture: two men with their heads tipped back, draining the rest of their ramyun in an isolated convenience store, and yet, Chanyeol finds it utterly comfortable, like he wouldn’t mind spending all of his evenings this way. 

“If I could go back to my college years, I would choose a music major,” Chanyeol confesses when they’ve tossed their bowls and chopsticks into the trash. “I loved,  _ still _ love music, and there was a point in my life where I paid more attention to my guitar than my girlfriend. Frankly, that didn’t sit well with her.” He laughs, the first full laugh he’s allowed himself to in a very long while. 

“I also picked up the drums in college, and I already knew how to play piano from my childhood, so I tried my best to create a one-man-band mixtape, which, unsurprisingly, failed miserably. I did have fun, though. I kind of fell in love with music composition there after watching endless tutorial YouTube videos in my dorm. My roommate thought I was nuts. I would spend hours at night fiddling with my mic and e-piano when I should have been doing my literature homework.” He hesitates, somewhat surprised by his own monologue. “Sorry, I… I didn’t mean to ramble.” 

“No, tell me more about it,” Baekhyun says, with his head propped up on his hand. He’s sitting awfully close to Chanyeol; the latter can see the dusting of freckles across his cheeks and can almost count his eyelashes. “Why didn’t you pursue music?” 

Chanyeol opens his mouth to answer, but snaps it shut and shifts awkwardly in his seat instead. “Uh, well,” he starts, rubbing nervously at his neck. “I--I don’t, well…” 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Baekhyun adds quickly. For some reason, he looks almost hurt. “You just sounded so excited, I thought that maybe--”

Chanyeol exhales through his nose. He has never fully detailed his story to anyone before, except Hayoon, who fell asleep halfway through. And yet here he is, more than ready to spill out his deepest secrets to a too-young convenience store employee for whom he feels the weirdest need to trust. 

“I grew up in a single parent household.”  _ Okay, too late to abort mission. _ “My dad left our family when I was seven. Growing up, I felt like I had an obligation to provide for my mom and sister, since I was the only male left, like I had to make up for my shitty excuse of a dad. I worked two jobs, plus the occasional odd job through high school, squeezing my studies in between. Then, during the summer, I worked at the big Hyundai shipyard in Okpo to finish saving for my college education. I guess I didn’t trust myself enough as a musician to think I could subsidize my life afterwards. I never knew stability growing up. You know how the saying goes, starving musician or whatever. That’s why I chose to pursue a finance major instead, despite my passions.” Chanyeol glances at Baekhyun, who is still listening attentively, both hands supporting his chin on the table. “But I think, if I could do it over again, I would have done it differently.” 

“Yeah?” Baekhyun’s stare is penetrating, nearly unblinking. “So you think I’m making a wise decision? I’m not throwing away my life by devoting it to music?” 

“Do you love it?”

“Yeah,” Baekhyun says, so quietly, it’s nearly a whisper. It’s almost like he’s talking to himself. “I love it more than anything.” 

“Then you’re doing yourself a favor. There isn’t much else to it. It might be hard, financially or practically, but if you truly love it, you’ll make it work.” Chanyeol checks his watch. It’s getting late; he really should get going. Rising from his chair, he mumbles his thanks sheepishly, unsure of why he’s thanking Baekhyun. For the company, perhaps? He doesn’t know, but it feels appropriate. 

“It’s not too late, you know,” Baekhyun blurts out when Chanyeol is halfway through the door. “There’s still time to make changes. To pursue what you love.” He blushes, turning pink from his ears to the tip of his button nose. “And--and thank you. Thanks for what you said earlier. I was losing confidence in my choices, but I think… you’ve made me remember why I’m even doing this in the first place. So thank you, stranger.” 

Chanyeol smiles. “It’s Chanyeol.”

“Hm?”

“My name’s Chanyeol. And you’re welcome.” He lets his gaze flit once more towards Baekhyun, before he closes the door, the silence punctuated by the glittering note of the chime. 


	2. Chapter 2

The next day rolls by quickly. The office is relentless, as usual, filling up Chanyeol’s hours with stock profiles, articles, phone calls, and insufferable elitists. More than once, Baekhyun’s words replay in his mind -- “ _ There’s still time to make changes. To pursue what you love. _ ” He ends up shaking his head to clear the thoughts, however. It’s not like he can march out of the investment firm in the middle of the day without the consequences trailing behind him. Besides, with the addition of Jongin and Sehun in his life, he has to consider paying for their educations, extra-curricular activities, sports, potential car crashes as teenagers, the list goes on and on. It’s not a viable option, as tempting as it is.

Still, he can’t help but drum on his desk with pencils all throughout the day, humming some unknown tune under his breath. Kim Joonmyun, his boss, hollers for him to stop from a far-away cubicle, but Chanyeol’s heart is noticeably lighter already. 

Jongin and Sehun are dropped off at 7 pm sharp that night. Hayoon conveniently lets them trek up the apartment stairs by themselves, once Chanyeol buzzes them in. According to Sehun, she left as soon as they exited the car, tires screeching across the wet pavement. Chanyeol wonders if she’s meeting with  _ him _ , whoever  _ him _ is. He can’t dwell on the thought for long, though. He has kids to entertain. 

“So,” he booms, with a clap that’s much too loud. Jongin and Sehun jump at the sudden noise. “What should we do tonight?” 

“Well, it’s raining, so we can’t go outside,” Jongin says sadly. He’s dressed in a blue Samsung Lions sweatshirt and light grey jeans. His socks are mismatched, white and green. 

“I wanted to play basketball,” Sehun mutters. His voice is pitched angrily and Chanyeol already knows that it’s going to be tough to coax him out of his ever-present resentment towards his dad. “But of course it  _ rains _ today, of course it does.” 

“Hey, that’s not a problem,” Chanyeol says, with a grin that feels fake on his own face. He hopes it’s enough, nonetheless. “You know what we’ll do? We’ll, we’ll…”  _ Shit _ ,  _ what are kids into these days?  _ Chanyeol draws a blank, and for the billionth time, he realizes that he barely even knows his own children. It’s a gut-wrenching epiphany, but he doesn’t really have time for gut-wrenching epiphanies right now. Not when said kids are standing dejectedly in front of him. “We’ll go down to the convenience store to get some stuff, and then we’ll make cupcakes together, okay?”

Sehun perks up at this, just a tad. “Strawberry ones?”

“Uh, sure!” Inwardly, Chanyeol sighs in relief, glad that sweets hadn’t changed much since he was a kid. “Strawberry sound good to you, Jongin?” 

“Yeah,” Jongin replies from his position on the couch. He’s leafing through one of Chanyeol’s very big and very boring financial investment agreements, trying to make sense of the ridiculous words. “We gotta get sprinkles though.”

“Rainbow ones,” Sehun adds seriously.

“Strawberry cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles,” Chanyeol repeats. “Sounds perfect, boys.” 

After he helps Sehun and Jongin wrestle on their rain boots and coats, Chanyeol takes both of their hands in his and leads them out of the apartment. They comply easily -- either because of the happy promises of cupcakes or because they’re responding to his efforts to be a “good dad”, Chanyeol doesn’t know, but it’s an infinitely good feeling as he walks them down the glistening sidewalk, swinging them over giant puddles as they giggle uncontrollably. It also makes his stomach churn with sadness, because he  _ knows _ he misses this. He knows he missed out on it. 

The trio enters the convenience store in a flurry of dripping raincoats and exclamations of “Ow, ow, Jongin, you’re stepping on my boot! Get off!” Chanyeol guides them to the tiny confectioners aisle, where they gleefully snatch canisters of sprinkles and a bag of cake flour off the shelves. When they get to the counter, Jongin and Sehun victoriously drop their goods onto the surface in a sloppy pile and immediately challenge each other to a round of  _ kai bai bo _ , leaving Chanyeol to apologize profusely for his sons’ carelessness. 

He gets a glittering laugh in response, and he pauses and looks up from where he’s fumbling in his wallet for bills, because he  _ knows _ that voice _.  _ “It’s really okay, Chanyeol. Are they yours?” 

_ Fuck. _ Right, Baekhyun works here, of course he does! How could he have forgotten that? Chanyeol’s an idiot who doesn’t need heart palpitations on his list of ever-growing problems. Not that Baekhyun’s a problem, but he’s certainly not helpful for Chanyeol’s very confused heart. 

“You know dad?” Jongin asks curiously, showing sudden interest in the petite cashier, who’s wearing a red and black checked flannel draped across his shoulders. 

“Baekhyun,” Chanyeol says lamely. Then, “Uhh, yeah! These are my kids.” He claps a hand on each of their shoulders. His voice sounds louder than usual, even to himself. “Jongin and Sehun, say hi.” 

“Hi,” they echo, but Jongin’s curiosity isn’t satisfied. “How do you know dad? You look really young, like a teenager or something. All of dad’s friends are old.” 

Baekhyun lets out a loud bark of laughter at that, which dissolves into contagious chuckles. Chanyeol merely feels his ears turn a terrible shade of tomato. “Jongin, I’m not that old,” he says, feigning offense. He is kind of offended, though, and for some reason, he feels oddly defensive, like he has to prove his youth to the obviously more youthful cashier. 

“Your dad’s a loyal customer here,” Baekhyun answers, leaning against the counter so he can look Jongin in the eye, a wide smile capturing his entire face. He then leans back to inspect the items littering the counter. “Are you guys baking something?” 

“Yeah, strawberry cupcakes,” Sehun pipes up. 

“With sprinkles,” Jongin interjects importantly. “Rainbow ones.” 

“That sounds amazing,” Baekhyun says sincerely. “I got a tip for you, though. For strawberry cupcakes, always cut amount of sugar that the recipe calls for,  _ in half _ . Otherwise, the batter gets way too sugary and it overpowers the natural sweetness of the strawberries. Plus, if you make an icing -- like a strawberry-lemon creme or a chocolate glaze, the sweetness levels even out in the end, and all that extra sugar that you could have added to the batter becomes pointless. I’d go with a lighter frosting, though. Strawberry batter is usually pretty rich, what with the 2 plus sticks of butter that usually go into the mixture.”

“We’ll try that,” Chanyeol says quickly. Something in him tells him that they should leave the convenience store as soon as possible, before the boys make a fool out of him, intentionally or unintentionally. “Thanks, Baekhyun.”

“Do you bake?” Sehun blurts out as Baekhyun is tying up a plastic bag with the egg cartons inside. 

“Err, when I have time,” the cashier says, scratching his neck with graceful fingers. “I do love cupcakes, though.”

“You should help us,” Jongin declares, and then Sehun’s clapping his hands in a way more animatedly than Chanyeol ever thought possible. 

“Yeah, you should totally come over and help us! And then we’ll give you some cupcakes to take home.” Sehun turns to Chanyeol and grabs his arm. “Dad, can we invite Mr. Baekhyun over? Please? Last time we baked with you, you burned the cookies and we had to shatter the fire alarm because it wouldn’t stop beeping. Mr. Baekhyun sounds like he knows what he’s doing.”

Chanyeol coughs, while Baekhyun stifles a laugh in the background. “Sehun, I don’t think that Mr. Baekhyun has time to join us. See, he’s still worki--” 

“It’s actually the end of my shift,” Baekhyun interrupts, fingers poised around his apron strings like he intends to take it off. “I mean, that is, if you want me to tag along…”

“Dad,” Jongin whines, tugging at his coat sleeve. “Please?” 

“Come on dad,” Sehun adds, latching onto his other sleeve, tugging at the hem. 

God. Chanyeol can’t say no. 

“Baekhyun, do you have time to join us tonight?” Chanyeol asks, and he hears a small chorus of “Yes!” as two pairs of hands let go of his coat sleeves. 

“I do,” Baekhyun replies with a close-mouthed smile that stretches his eyes into shiny crescent moons and turns Chanyeol’s brain pretty much into an unidentifiable blob. “Thanks for inviting me. Just give me a second to lock up and we can head to your place.” 

_ This situation is strange _ , Chanyeol thinks, as they stroll down the sidewalk, shielded by the single umbrella that Baekhyun was smart enough to bring with him. He would have never imagined himself huddled under a too-small umbrella with a college student and his two sons, on their way to his apartment to bake cupcakes. And yet, for some inexplicable reason, he also has never felt this much at peace in a long, long time. 

It doesn’t help, though, that Baekhyun is so close, practically leaning against his arm as they walk side to side. It doesn’t help that speckles of raindrops cling to his dark eyelashes and dribble down his cheek like harmless tears. It doesn’t help that Sehun and Jongin are looking with fascination at him as he hammers out baseball facts, completely enamored, impressed, and open-mouthed. It doesn’t help that Chanyeol KNOWS all of this is unhealthy and wrong in a million different ways, and yet it’s still truly a struggle to battle down the feelings that threaten to rise. 

When they arrive at the apartment and Chanyeol unlocks the door, he isn’t quite sure what to say, or do. It’s been so long since he’s had guests and for a second, he panics internally about the unmade bed and the undecorated walls. Everything seems so blank and impersonal, and Baekhyun, decked out in his green pom-pom beanie and red flannel and bright smile, seems painfully out of place. It appears, however, that Sehun and Jongin have no inhibitions, because they’re dragging Baekhyun to the kitchen while he’s simultaneously trying (and failing) to kick off his shoes. 

“Chanyeol, a little help?” Baekhyun laughs nervously, as Jongin thumps the recipe book onto the kitchen table and Sehun hoists two roller pins into the air and makes machine gun noises with his mouth. 

Chanyeol laughs and rolls up his sweater sleeves. His throat catches when he spots Baekhyun’s eyes trace his forearms as he does so, up and up his shoulders and until he meets Chanyeol’s eyes. He freezes and opens his mouth as if to say something, but then clamps it shut and averts his gaze slightly. The taller man blinks confusedly before shaking his head to clear his thoughts -- it was nothing, right?

“Jongin, did you find the recipe?” Chanyeol asks, in a bit of a daze still as he washes his hands in the kitchen sink. 

“Yeah, it’s right here,” the boy replies and then commences to read the ingredients out loud. Sehun makes it his personal task to wrench open the cupboards and fridge to raid them, pulling out the milk carton, baking powder, and sugar bags.

As the group assembles the ingredients and uses measuring cups and spoons to parse out the appropriate amounts, Chanyeol finds out that Baekhyun is more of an experienced baker than he initially let on. He measures with scary precision and gently corrects the rest of them when they accidentally mix up the recipe steps or crack one too few eggs. Chanyeol also catches Baekhyun staring at him a few times, most noticeably when he had bent over to Sehun’s eye level to help him measure out the salt and baking soda. Baekhyun’s head was tilted, staring at them with such a fond and gentle smile that Chanyeol’s heart began to thump twice as fast.

“So, you’re a baker, as well as a musician?” Chanyeol jokes when they’re side by side, peeling and squeezing lemons into a bowl for the icing. Sehun and Jongin had fled to the living room to watch a superhero film, apparently bored with baking once all the batter had been ladled into cupcake tins and thrust into the oven. 

“Hardly,” Baekhyun says, dislodging a lemon seed from the peel. “But my girlfriend is. Well, was.” His voice dips quietly into a whisper as he says the last word.

_ Girlfriend. _ For a few seconds, that’s all that Chanyeol’s mind can focus on. Baekhyun has a girlfriend. Baekhyun  _ had _ a girlfriend. Baekhyun is straight. Baekhyun is young and attractive and lovely and  _ straight _ . Chanyeol’s mind whirs with confusion and hurt as he tries to get a grip on his emotions. He shouldn’t even be thinking about this, but god, why does it pain him so to hear those words?

Baekhyun coughs awkwardly to clear the sudden lapse of silence. “So do you have a wife, or a partner?” he asks. “I mean, I’m assuming that Jongin and Sehun…” 

“Uhh, yes, a wife,” Chanyeol finishes for him, blinking rapidly in the attempt to clear his head. “Well, same with you. I  _ had  _ a wife. Not that you want to hear about my personal problems or anything, but we’re… divorcing. Or in the middle of it, right now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Baekhyun says evenly, as he slides the vegetable peeler flat along a lemon. Curls of peel spiral onto the cutting board, coaxed by his slender fingers. Chanyeol is mesmerized by how long and graceful his fingers look, such a contrast to his own large, roughened ones, calloused from years of guitar. “I was wondering if Mrs. Chanyeol would object to having a random stranger baking in her house with her husband and kids.” 

“You’re not a random stranger, though,” Chanyeol says quickly, a bit too quickly, because Baekhyun glances up in surprise at his tone. “I mean, you’re Baekhyun, from the store! I told you half of my life story… I wouldn’t do that if I considered you a complete stranger. Well, actually, I don’t really do that even with the people I consider close. You’re just, easy to talk to, I guess.” He can feel his face warming up, so he walks toward the fridge, facing away from Baekhyun, muttering something about “getting more lemons”. 

“I usually talk too much,” Baekhyun says to his back, caution creeping into his voice. “So I guess you’re just easy to listen to.” There’s another awkward beat of silence that fills the room before he ventures on. “It’s actually kind of funny. My girlfriend broke up with me because I didn’t listen nearly enough when we were together, or at least that’s what she claimed. I already knew she cheated on me, though, but it was less painful to ignore that part.” 

Chanyeol inhales sharply. “I’m sorry, Baekhyun. That sucks.” He drops four more lemons in the metal bowl that sits between them, separating them. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think that describes you at all. Like I said, you’re easy to talk to. How long were you with her?”

“Four years.”

“Holy shit,” Chanyeol breathes, before clapping a hand over his mouth when he realizes that he said that out loud. “I’m sorry, that was so rude of me.” 

“No,” Baekhyun chuckles weakly. “Honestly, I felt the same way at times, which is why I decided to propose to her on our fourth year anniversary. Clearly, she had other plans, because that was the exact day she decided she wanted it all to end. I went to meet her with an engagement ring in my pocket, and I went home with the ring still with me.” 

“Baekhyun, I’m so sorry,” Chanyeol says, staring at the smaller man with sympathy evident in his eyes. 

“It’s alright,” Baekhyun exhales, turning his attention to the sticky lemon juice staining his hands. He wipes his fingers on his jeans, which Chanyeol finds oddly endearing. “It just wasn’t meant to be, no matter how much I  _ wanted  _ it to be.” 

“I know how you feel,” Chanyeol murmurs. “Sehun and Jongin’s mom… she was my everything in high school and university. Our friends used to bet how long we could stand without being next to each other. We were always together, and I thought for sure that we would spend the rest of our lives with each other, just as we promised when we were younger. But things…” 

“Things happen,” Baekhyun says quietly. 

“Things happen,” Chanyeol agrees, just as quiet. “She found someone else, she moved on. It’s kind of amazing how quickly things can change.” 

Baekhyun hums in agreement as he dumps a cup of sugar into the lemon juice mixture. “But you’ll find someone else, eventually. You’ll move on too, even if it takes time.”

“Ha,” Chanyeol says sarcastically. “I don’t know. My emotions are kind of fucked up right now. Plus, if my high school sweetheart could fall out of love with me, I don’t think my prospective love life looks too good.” 

“That’s not true,” Baekhyun answers firmly. He turns to look Chanyeol in the eye, a gleam of determination and decisiveness shining in his chestnut irises. Under the white heat of the kitchen lighting, his face glows, and not for the first time does Chanyeol find him utterly beautiful. His heart twinges painfully as he meets his gaze. “I don’t know you all that well, Chanyeol, but from what I’ve seen, you’re a good man and a good father. Anyone would be lucky to have you.” 

“Baekhyun,” Chanyeol starts, after the shock has worn off and he realizes that saying something in response would probably be socially appropriate. The name rolls off his name too sharply and much too loudly, and Chanyeol, being the klutz that he is, squeezes the lemon in his hand as he cringes. A jet of juice streams through the air, sloshing all over the counter. 

“Fuck! I’m sorry.” He turns to see Baekhyun bent over in pain, pressing a palm to his eye. “Oh crap, crap, Baekhyun, did I get it in your eye? I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s alright,” Baekhyun laughs brightly, but his palm is still flattened against his left eye. “Ow, fuck. Never mind, it’s not alright. Fuck, that burns.” 

Chanyeol rushes to wet a paper towel under the kitchen faucet before crouching down to the floor and peeling away Baekhyun’s fingers from his face. “Let me see. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.” 

Baekhyun sits all the way on the floor and cracks open his eyes as Chanyeol softly presses the cloth to his skin.  His eyes are unbelievably bright, only illuminated more so by the overhead lighting. His mouth is parted slightly as he stares up at Chanyeol with an unrelenting gaze, and in the thick silence, Chanyeol realizes how intimate the scene must look. Baekhyun’s heavy stare isn’t helping much; he looks up at Chanyeol with something indecipherable in his eyes and he flits his gaze across Chanyeol’s whole face, like he’s searching for something. It’s unnerving, to say the least, and it sets off something burning in Chanyeol’s chest.

Baekhyun’s eyes finally flicker to Chanyeol’s lips, causing the latter to shudder unexpectedly. 

“Baekhyun,” Chanyeol says, his voice dipping lower. Danger bells seem to go off in his head, but all he can see is Baekhyun’s focused stare and the way his tongue darts between his lips briefly. 

“I’m not in a good place, Chanyeol,” Baekhyun mutters, one hand reaching up tentatively to touch Chanyeol’s jaw. Suddenly, they’re inching closer and closer, until their faces are mere centimeters apart. “So why do I feel like…”

“Dad, Sehun sat on the remote control and now the TV won’t turn back on, woah…” Jongin skids into the kitchen and pauses when he takes in the scene before him. “Um…” 

Chanyeol pushes himself away from Baekhyun and stands so quickly he almost gets whiplash. “Jonginnie!” he says, voice coming out unnaturally high-pitched. He scrambles to find an explanation, but what are you supposed to say to your ten year old son in this kind of situation? 

“Chanyeol was just helping me clean some lemon juice from my eye,” Baekhyun offers, boosting himself off the ground. He presses the previously discarded paper towel gingerly to his face for good measure and flashes Jongin a confident, persuasive smile, but something is obviously off in his composure. 

Jongin frowns for a second, but he seems to take it. “Dad, can you help us fix the TV?” 

“Uh, yeah Jongin, just a sec,” Chanyeol manages, still very much in a confused haze. “Let me just talk to Baekhyun for a few minutes, okay? I’ll join you in the living room after.” 

Jongin bobs his head. “It’s not gonna take that long, will it?”

“No, son,” Chanyeol laughs. “Why don’t you challenge Sehun to a game of Monopoly? It’s in the second drawer in the cabinet next to the coffee table.” 

When Jongin darts back out to own Sehun’s ass in Monopoly, Baekhyun smiles wistfully in his direction. “He looks like you,” he says. 

“Does he?” Chanyeol asks, scratching at his neck. “I don’t see it. I never thought either of the boys looked like me.” 

“Maybe it’s the eyes. You two have very open, friendly eyes. Warm eyes.” 

There’s a moment of silence, and Chanyeol finds himself staring blatantly at the younger man, absolutely unsure of what to say. All he knows is that he needs to say  _ something _ . The silence is excruciating. 

“Baekhyun,” he tries again, “What happened before--”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Baekhyun says, tracing a pattern in the spilled flour on the counter with his finger and avoiding eye contact. “I-I’m sorry for doing that. I don’t know what came over me. It was just… you were so close and for a second, I forgot where I was. I shouldn’t have done that, and Jongin… I‘m sorry.” 

“No, it’s not your fault!” Chanyeol replies, flinching as his voice booms in the small space of the kitchen. “You… you didn’t even  _ do _ anything. I mean, it wasn’t like I didn’t reciprocate. I wanted it too…” 

Baekhyun smiles softly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s strange and foreign and Chanyeol hates how  _ far-away  _ it looks. “I think I should go. Thank you Chanyeol, for inviting me into your home.” 

“Baekhyun. Baekhyun, wait.” 

“Please tell the boys goodbye for me!” the smaller man says lightly, and before Chanyeol can register anything else, the front door is closing and footsteps are descending down the hallway.


End file.
